Any Man Can Change
by Dare-Sonar
Summary: COMPLETE Can a book really change a man's life? The question is addressed when Greg reads a mysterious book and searches for real answers, about himself, and about the author. . . [Greg Fic]
1. We are All Alone

PLEASE READ: I am a "random reviewer", a person who goes and reads "cold stories" (stories that are really old and far down the lists) and reviews them in a professional manner. I hope you join me and become another "random reviewer". Woo!

DISCLAIMER: If I owned CSI, I would star in it and Eric Szmanda would be my husband. While I'm dreaming, I'd like a million dollars and Eric Close from Without a Trace, as well. And let's throw in world peace, too. You gotta think of the children.

SETTING: This takes place after the Season Finale. Let's say Grissom got through the surgery okay so he can hear. Okay? Okay.

EDITED: June 2007, for grammar and overall smoothness. Plot is exactly the same.

* * *

"You know, Greg," Sara said offhandedly, looking at the DNA results he just handed her, "Sometimes, I see your lips moving and I think I understand what you're saying, then realize that I don't speak 'Idiot'."

Greg smiled his crooked smile and said, "Yeah, but at least I don't speak complete and utter 'Geek'."

Sara shook her head and left him to the silence of the Lab. Greg looked over to Grissom's office, the door hanging open, revealing Grissom sitting silently in his office, completely entranced in a magazine. Catherine walked over and blocked Greg's view.

Catherine stood there for a second, wondering what he was reading.

"Boo," She said in a not-really-scary way. He looked up and smiled a little, saying, "How's the Thomas Case?"

"Solved. I just need you to sign some things and we can send it off to manila folder heaven to collect dust."

He nodded and signed where Catherine pointed and she headed out of his office.

Greg, meanwhile, was just sitting in the Lab in a chair, with his elbows on his knees and his head resting in his hands. Sara walked by and was about to walk in when she paused to gaze in mild curiosity. Catherine walked by and Sara reached her hand out to stop her.

"Look at Greg," She whispered. Catherine turned to see and then looked at the floor, uncomfortable. "Yeah, I've seen him like this before. He does it every day, when the workload allows. He just sits there, like he is so very alone."

"He is, in a way." Sara said, still in a whisper.

Catherine nodded her head sadly, "Yeah. We all are."

* * *

_"You know you're a dork when one of your impulse buys is a Rubiks Cube."_


	2. He Seems so Empty

Greg looked at his watch. It was almost seven o' clock in the morning. Almost time to go home.

_What am I going to do at home?_ Greg thought to himself, and rolled his eyes. At least here he was forced to have some human contact.

He looked around the lab. Grissom's door was shut now, and it appeared everyone else was going to work overtime since no one was there and it was almost time to go home. He sat down and looked into the distance, at nothing. A song came on the radio, but he barely heard it. He started to put his jacket on and felt the hole in his stomach, slowly growing bigger as each day went by.

Sadly, Greg suddenly realized it: he had no purpose.

At least, that's what he felt like. Like if he were to die today, he wouldn't be remembered for anything.

He knew he was overreacting. He knew there were people who cared about him, but the terrible feeling of loneliness was always there, calling him in the night.

Greg sighed and slid off his chair. Kept with his desolate thoughts, he pulled his jacket on in preparation to leave.

Catherine and Warrick walked through the front doors, just as Grissom was finally leaving his office. They ran into each other and Warrick acknowledged Grissom with a small wave and left but Catherine stopped in her tracks, causing Grissom to stop.

"Gil," She said, and he looked off the top of his glasses into her eyes.

"Yes?" He asked quizzically.

"Have you noticed Greg lately?" Catherine asked. Grissom noted her maternal concern and smiled inwardly.

"It depends on what you mean." Grissom said.

"He is so sad. He seems so... so empty, lately. He reminds me of someone."

Grissom remained silent.

"I think you know who I am talking about, Gil. Now that you can hear, you don't seem to isolate yourself so much."

"Catherine..."

"I'm worried about Greg, Gil."

Grissom sighed and took his glasses off to help emphasize his professionalism, "I can't help Greg if he feels sad unless he asks, Catherine. He is an adult. Besides..." Grissom turned to watch Greg.

Through the glass, Greg could be seen smiling at something Warrick was saying.

"Catherine, I think you're worrying too much." He smiled, silently grateful that was over with. Catherine just smiled a little.

"You never seemed to care that much about me!" Grissom joked, and left before Catherine could whisper:

"Yes, Gil," She whispered, "I did."

* * *

A/N: The previous is purely plutonic between Catherine and Grissom, sorry for those shippers!

_"If men are from Mars, then why don't they go home?"_


	3. Nameless

Greg opened the doors to his apartment and threw his keys on the counter.

He wasn't necessarily a messy person. Being a scientist, he was instinctively neat, because he would be in a whole lot of trouble if he was disorganized. He wandered past his kitchen, kicking his shoes off and shuffling out of his outer clothes; and ended at his bed, where he promptly collapsed and instantly fell asleep before the sun could rise all the way.

Greg's eyes fluttered open. He saw a huge hole, a black hole, above him, slowly sucking everything in the room toward it, himself included. He was being sucked closer... and closer...

He awoke with a start and a gasp. He looked over at the clock, which read one o' clock, a pretty good record for sleeping for Greg.

He walked over to the mirror and noted the not-very-flattering reflection with a sarcastically whispered: "Nice."

Not really feeling like doing much, he threw on a tank top and some pants and headed out for a jog. He had been jogging a lot lately, he loved the way the desert sun felt on his skin.

He headed out the door and started to run, concentrating on nothing but his breathing and the rhythm of his feet beating the ground, which slowly pounded him into a hypnotic trance. Unlike other people, Greg found it easier to run if all he did was concentrate on his burning muscles, on his labored breath.

He made his usual two mile run and made it back in his room by two o'clock. He took a shower, watched some TV and headed back to work.

Another day, another time to fake a smile when in someone's presence. Another opportunity to see his own life through a fog, as if an out-of-body experience.

When it came time to head home again, Greg had to stay earlier into the morning, running a partial print through CODIS and waiting for DNA to be processed. Therefore, Greg was completely alone as he headed to his locker. Having been lulled into a sense of "automatic pilot" after the day's work, Greg wasn't expecting anything exciting as he opened his locker and put his jacket on. That was why he didn't notice the book until he tripped over it, spinning in midair in an attempt to keep his balance with a clumsy, impromptu ballet move.

A book was lying face down on the floor. Since Greg's locker was the only one open, it must had come from it. He looked around in a suspicious way and leaned over to read the cover.

It was nothing but a dark, attractive blue with a font on it that read _"Nameless."_

On the bottom, _"By: Maree Aveno."_

Greg knew this was purposefully here, because it was worn and tattered; it had been read before. He picked it up and pocketed it and walked to his car and drove home, already questioning the mysterious book.

He walked up to his room, threw his jacket on his bed and fell on his couch and opened it up to the first page, which was the dedication:

_"Usually, authors dedicate their books to someone special in their lives that helped inspire and motivate them to write this book. Unfortunately, I don't know anyone like that. Bummer."_

Greg smiled faintly, shifted to get more comfortable and continued on.

* * *

_"The spiders were in my house the whole time!!"  
"Well, sir, you don't really know that. . ."  
"Yes, I do! There is a web in my barn!"  
"...Well, a web is a good sign of an arachnid infestation..."  
-From the movie "Arachnophobia" A/N If you ever have the opportunity to watch this movie... don't. Please._


	4. Confessions and Ramblings

Greg flipped to the first chapter, and was instantly hooked by the first paragraph:

_"CHAPTER ONE. . . OF MANY.  
I have always been two people: the real me and the person everyone sees as me. The thin line that separates the two is slowly starting to blur and do you know what? I am glad, because I am really afraid of whom I would see on each side."_

Greg stopped reading suddenly and thought about how much that reflected his own feelings and inner thoughts. It kind of freaked him out, and it was only the first paragraph.

He shrugged it off and fell into the book, quickly digesting page by page. Maree Aveno's sick, dark humor mixed well with her life confessions and random ramblings, and some actual funny moments made Greg actually laugh.

When the author was recalling learning how to drive, she repeatedly mentioned how much she hated listening to lectures and car crash victims:

_"I've learned many things from back when I was driving. I did a Driver's Ed course that involved many things, but the most vivid thing in my memory is, ironically, not driving at all. It was the classrooms. Let's go through a day in the life of a fifteen-year-old-girl, okay?  
It's time to do Classroom. Now, classroom is exactly what all kids are trying to escape during the summer. From 8 o' clock (IN THE MORNING) to 4:45 (IN THE EVENING!! GAAK!) the teachers try to cram every little piece of information about driving straight into the skulls of teenagers, which, we all know, doesn't work.  
That, and they show us videos. Videos which, probably by law, all had to be made before 1990 with teenagers who were complete victims of the fashion of the 80's. I missed most of the information on the tapes because the leggings and baggy sweatshirts and poofy hair distracted me. A lot.  
Of course, and I have heard every single sad story about car crashes. A lot of teenagers have died in car crashes and the moral of all of these videos, to me, is: THOU SHALT NOT DRIVE. EVER. SERIOUSLY. LEARN TO FLY, AND EVEN THEN, WEAR YOUR SEATBELT.  
Also, they manage to choke you with statistics, like, 'Every eight-five minutes and forty seconds, a woman who is writing a book with curly hair and glasses makes a bad joke and DIES.'"_

Greg grinned and once again thanked God that no one was there to see him laugh at a book. What really stuck out in the whole book was what Maree wrote about when talking about people in general:

_"We, as a people, are always looking for one thing: the truth. It's pretty funny, because the truth will do one of two things: either set you free or hurt like hell. Am I right? I think I am. We should call ourselves the Truthseekers."_

Greg paused and reread the short paragraph. It rang through his mind and was the turning point for him. She was absolutely right. If she wanted to prove one thing with this book, it was the simple "truth" that life can be short and to not waste it. Her words continued to haunt him as he stood up, stretched his cramped muscles and went to go get a drink.

"The Truthseekers." Greg smiled as he heard his own voice echo in the kitchen. How could a young lady seem to know so much about life?

Before he knew it, it was one o' clock in the morning that Friday night and he read the last page of the book, which was explaining Maree's condition.

_"EPILOGUE: Since we have gotten absolutely nowhere in this book except deep into my sad, twisted mind, I think I have to explain where this all came from. This book was written in January of 2002, five months after I was diagnosed with cancer. So it's just me in my hospital room and my heartbeat monitor. I think I'll call him Bill.  
This book was nothing but an outlet, a vain hope of mine to leave my legacy before I leave this world, a futile effort so I will not be forgotten. History has a nasty habit of swallowing up things and leaving no trace of them for the future. I refuse to let that be me.  
If this book should have any purpose, it is for you to give blood. Seriously. You have no idea how helpful it is."_

Greg smiled and slowly shut the book. Her philosophical writing mixed with humor made him really think about his life. He realized how corny this was, but the book really helped him think about how much he took his life for granted. He was pretty sure she died afterwards, because her ending seemed rushed, so sudden, so desperate, before the last moment.

But, could a book change someone's entire outlook on life? Especially the life of one man, one lonely, stubborn man, who had nothing to turn to except a book?

* * *

_"And the crime rate does not go up IF YOU TURN THE GRAPH UPSIDE DOWN!"  
-Congressman Shrub from VCPR (Grand Theft Auto Vice City)_


	5. Give Life

FOUR MONTHS LATER:

Catherine walked through the halls at the crime lab and stopped abruptly as she saw Grissom staring, a comically horrified look pasted on his face, into the Lab.

Catherine stood next to him and looked inside. Greg was processing a fiber from Sara's crime scene with the radio on full blast. He was dancing and singing at the top of his lungs, hideously out of tune.

_"Yo, listen up, here's a story/  
about a little guy who lives in a blue world/  
and all day and all night and every thing he sees is just blue, like him/  
Inside and outside./  
Blue his house with the blue little window/  
and a blue corvette/  
and everything is blue for him, and himself, and everybody around/  
cause he ain't got nobody to listen..."_

Catherine recognized the song and said out loud, "Oh, no. . ."

Greg didn't see them or hear them, and when the chorus started, he burst out dancing and singing:

_"I'm blue dab a dee a ba di, and dab a dee a ba di and dab a de dab a di!"_

Grissom stood there with a curious smirk.

Greg spun around and stopped as he saw Catherine and Grissom watching him from behind the glass. After a brief pause, Greg launched into a violent coughing attack and let Eiffel 65 finish the song by themselves.

Grissom shook his head and left, and Catherine was trying as hard as she could to not break out laughing.

Greg smiled and sat down to read the newspaper. He absentmindedly flipped through when he saw this one ad:

_GIVE A LIFE. GIVE BLOOD. --Today only at St. Mary's Hospital in downtown Las Vegas._

Greg smiled thoughtfully and headed right over there after work.

He jumped into his car and turned on the radio, smiled at the song, and started singing along:

_"I'm blue da ba dee. . ."_

* * *

_"If we were meant to be monogamous, then _why weren't we born already married_?"  
Maurice Chavez from VCPR (Grand Theft Auto Vice City)_


	6. St Marys

_A/N: Okay, I have no clue how the hospital would check for what blood type you are so I am completely making up the first test. I did some research on blood types but couldn't find how they test for them. I should have Asked Jeeves but I'm too lazy._

--

"Welcome to St. Mary's. Please fill out these forms and wait until your name is called."

Greg smiled at the woman and started filling the forms out but stopped abruptly when it asked for his blood type. He completely forgot.

"Mr. Sanders?" A nurse walked in and looked around quizzically. Greg stood up and walked over to her and said, "I don't remember what my blood type is."

She looked him up and down and said, "We can do a quick test. Follow me."

She lead him to a room where another, way more stoic and frightening-looking, nurse stood, needle at the ready, already in the groove of another blood drive. Greg entered, studied the situation briefly, and his smile slid away from his face as she said, "Hello, Mr. Sanders. How old are you?"

Greg stood at attention: "27."

"Have you done any drugs, including medication, within the past 72 hours?"

"No."

"What is your blood type?"

"Um... I don't really remember." He decided to attempt a joke: "I'm pretty sure it's a letter."

The two nurses looked at him in a bored way and Greg cleared his throat and said, "Okay, maybe you've heard that one before."

They led him to the chair and swabbed his arm with alcohol. They first drew a small amount of blood and said, "We'll be right back, Mr. Sanders."

He smiled and nodded and they disappeared.

A large amount of time went by, or maybe it wasn't, Greg didn't know because all he could do is stare at the wall helpfully. They came back with strange smiles on their faces.

"What?" Greg asked, then considered making a joke about vampires, then dismissed it.

"Mr. Sanders, we tested your blood."

"Oh," Greg said intelligently.

"You have AB negative," They paused and looked at him.

"Oh. My bad?" Greg said, questioning, "I wasn't really aware I was going to be graded on this..."

"No, on the contrary Mr. Sanders. That is a very rare blood type. Not very many people have it, and not very many people donate it. We would like to extend our thanks."

"No problem," Greg said. It's not like he did it on purpose.

They tied him off and he slowly watched his valuable blood drain out of him while corny elevator music played in the background.

He finally finished, they thanked him again, and they left him to find his own way out. Not really having anything better to do, he wandered around the hospital.

Not like other people, the hospital never really gave him the jitters. He merely thought of them as a doorway for life, or death, depending on how you looked at it.

He passed a room and looked through the window on the door and saw a woman lying on the bed. Unlike the other rooms he had passed, hers wasn't decorated with Get Well balloons and flowers. Hers was desolate, and she looked empty. Just like him...

Before he could even think about what he was doing, he walked inside.

* * *

_"CALVIN! STOP RUNNING THROUGH THE HOUSE LIKE A MANIAC!"  
(Calvin continues to run through the house.)  
"CALVIN! What did I just tell you?"  
"Beats me. You weren't listening either?"  
-Calvin and Hobbes by Bill Watterson_


	7. AB Negative

The woman looked up as he entered the room. She looked slightly pale, but her eyes had a fire behind them that Greg couldn't begin to understand. She was beautiful! She had curly hair and big, dark blue eyes. When she spoke, her voice had a nice, smooth ring to it.

"Yes?"

Greg didn't know why he was there.

"Hi. My name is Greg. Greg Sanders. I don't know why I'm here."

"Honesty's good."

Greg nodded in casual agreement, "So... what's wrong?"

She didn't seem to be insulted by his intrusion; she just smiled in a faint way and said, "I have no kidneys."

"Ah. I'm no doctor, but I think that's bad."

She smiled her full, gorgeous smile and invited him in to sit down.

"My name is Shannon. I don't get many visitors. Why are you here?"

"I was giving blood." Greg said.

"That's really great. That's really good to do. So, who are you? What brings you across to my humble hospital room?"

"Boredom."

"Ah," She said, "I think I've felt that before."

He laughed and said, "Yeah."

An awkward pause led Shannon to ask, "So, Greg Sanders the Bored, who are you? What's your story?"

"Well, I'm 27 years old, live in an apartment near the suburbs of Las Vegas, I work in the Las Vegas Crime Lab and I enjoy long walks on the beach, volleyball, and watching 'The Bachelor'."

She smiled and said, "Well, I am 25 years old, live in a hospital room and have for the past nine months, where I enjoy typing on my laptop and watching Maury Povich. I am currently top of the list for a kidney and I did watch 'Joe Millionaire', but if you tell anyone that I will be forced to kill you."

Greg grinned. He had a feeling he would be seeing more of Shannon in the future.

--

TWO DAYS LATER:

"Greg, you are cheating." Shannon said, trying to look at his poker hand.

Greg had spent the entire weekend with her and it was already Sunday afternoon. They were playing poker and Shannon was losing horribly.

Shannon used to be a teacher but fell ill to cancer early in life. She lost both her kidneys to it before it went into remission and all she could do was wait for a kidney to come her way. She said it was sad but she hoped that someone would die and give her their kidneys, but Greg could see were she was coming from. She couldn't leave the hospital because she was permanently hooked to machines.

Greg identified so easily with this woman. He knew they would, under different circumstances, date, and he was highly attracted to her. It was so funny, because when he was with her the hole that was still present was gone. He trusted this woman wholeheartedly, and he knew many would roll their eyes at his hopeless, boyish crush. Even he would have before. He was pretty sure even _Shannon_ would if he had enough guts to tell her.

Greg smiled and had to head home when he walked out of the door and right into a nurse.

"Hi?" Greg said, questioning the funny look on her face.

"You friends with Shannon?" She asked.

"Yes."

A sad look filtered on to the nurse's face.

"What?" Greg asked, and then realized something, "Does... does Shannon have any hope to get a kidney?"

"Oh, we get plenty of kidneys," She said, looking at her chart that was hanging outside the door, "But she can't have any of them."

"Why not?" Greg asked, afraid of the answer.

The woman flipped through the pages on her chart and said, "AB negative."

"What?"

"She is AB negative blood type. We rarely get AB negative blood, nevertheless an AB negative kidney." She walked away bluntly without a benediction, and Greg stared at her back in disbelief.

He remembered a conversation they had yesterday about how terrible it was to live in a hospital. Greg had just recently been in this very hospital because of the explosion, and he told Shannon the entire story. After he had said that, she had become rarely silent as she looked at him. He showed her the faint scar on his face and she slowly reached out to touch it as she ran her finger down his cheekbone she began to speak again.

"I have been in this same bed for about a year. December of 2001. God, will I remember that Christmas. I had to get both of my kidneys removed the day afterward. What's today? June 23rd? of 2003? I learn to stop counting after awhile."

She had stopped there, but the pain and need Greg saw in her eyes haunted him in his sleep that night. He really loved this woman. It had been three whole days, and Greg thought he was in love.

How is that possible?

* * *

_"Domine sus temores, o ellos lo dominarán." ("Master your fears, or they will master you.") I haven't learned much Spanish so sorry if I butchered that one._


	8. Never Woke Up

TWO MONTHS LATER:

They hooked Greg up to the IV and patted him on the shoulder.

"Let's do this, Mr. Sanders." Dr. Hunter said, smiling. Greg smiled nervously back. Grissom sat beside Greg in the room he was prepped in. He looked at Grissom's grey eyes and said, with utter confidence, "I'm ready for this."

Grissom looked at him and nodded. "I know you are, Greg. You sure you don't want any of the others to know?"

Greg nodded, "I'll tell them later."

Dr. Hunter smiled, "It's time to wheel you into surgery. Let's go."

Grissom nodded in Greg's direction and left, and Greg was moved into surgery. He lie next to Shannon and she turned her head around and looked at him.

"Wow. Look at where we are. Talk about a change, huh? It takes a lot to change a man, especially to convince him to give you a kidney."

Greg smiled, "Well, any man can change, as long as he has a good enough reason. And an extra kidney to give away."

She blinked slowly and smiled, "You're absolutely right."

He looked at her chart which read "Aveno, Shannon." He snapped his head up and said, "I finally know where I have heard it before!"

"What?" Shannon asked, "What are you talking about?"

"Do you have a sister?"

"Yes. What is this about?"

"Did she write a book?"

Shannon looked at him questioningly, "A book?"

"Yeah. Is her name Maree?"

"Are you kidding me?" She asked, smiling.

"No." Greg said, as the anesthesiologist started to add medicine into his IV.

She smiled her smile and said, "Sleep well, Greg."

"No, seriously. Did she?" He couldn't see her answer, because sleep flooded over him like water, and he fell into unconsciousness.

--

When Greg awoke, he saw Grissom in the corner, trying to sleep on a chair.

"Good morning," Greg said weakly. Grissom's eyes snapped open, proving he wasn't really asleep at all.

"Good morning, Greg," He replied.

"How is she? How did it work out?"

Dr. Hunter walked in, and interrupted them.

"Mr. Sanders, we need to talk."

Fear poured through Greg like an icy shot of liquid Nitrogen, "What?"

"We never performed the surgery."

"Why not?"

Dr. Hunter shot Greg a look, "When we made the primary incision into Miss Aveno, we saw something."

"What?"

"Cancer."

Greg slowly closed his eyes, "It was supposed to be in remission..."

"Yes, but in her weakened state for the long period of time, her red blood cells needed to be a normal count for her to recover from the kidney operation, so we couldn't give her a complete dose of chemo because it destroys blood cells..."

"Wait," Greg said, his brain slowly absorbing what Dr. Hunter was saying, "How is she?"

"She never woke up from anesthesia."

Greg bowed his head in grief. She waited too long. She was too weak. She had no chance.

Grissom bent down so he was eye level with Greg.

"Greg." Grissom's stern voice sliced through the grief Greg was feeling and he finally opened his eyes.

"What?" His voice was small and weak.

"Greg, she changed you so much in the time you knew her. Everyone noticed. She changed you so much, so much more than I expected her too. I gave you her book because it changed me too."

"Her book?" Greg asked quietly

"Yes, the book in your locker. Her book, my book, and your book."

"But her name was Shannon."

"Her middle name was Maree, Greg," Grissom said gently, "She never really liked her first name."

"Wait, how do you know this?"

"I talked to her."

Greg frowned, more confused than sad for the moment. It made so much sense, suddenly. He connected with her just as quickly as he did with the book... _her_ book. The strange smile she gave him in the surgery room...

"It was her book. Could I be more stupid?" Greg said, sitting up on the bed to a slight feeling of dizziness.

Before anything else could happen, the door swung open and a nurse came in, carrying something.

Every head swung around to look at her.

"I found this in Miss Aveno's room. It had a note on it, from her, to give it to Mr. Sanders."

It was Shannon's laptop.

* * *

_"Ever deSire a ChAnge of PacE?" (Get it?)_


	9. Any Man Can Change

Greg didn't look at the laptop until he got home a while later. He figured she really wanted him to see something in it.

He opened it up and opened up Microsoft Word, since he figured she had typed him a letter.

It had one document. It was entitled "READ THIS."

He opened it up and looked at the first thing that was typed.

_"Greg, I have known you for two months. I am writing this pre-surgery. I know I am not going to make it...  
I want to thank you so much for all you have done for me. I spoke with your friend Gil Grissom and he told me all about him giving you my book, and I am so flattered it changed you two so much.  
There is so much I would like to tell you, but I know I cannot write it down. You feel what I feel, I know, so I hope we can leave it at that. Plus, after this is a slightly happier, brighter sequel to the story (the story I thought was being used to fuel fires for the homeless and not read,) but since I know at least two people have read it, I am very happy.  
Goodbye, Greg. You have no idea what these past months have meant for me.  
-Shannon Maree Aveno"_

Greg exhaled sharply. He took the mouse and scrolled down and saw the beginnings of a story. He continued scrolling to the first page and started to read the story written by a dying woman with newfound hope:

_"Normally, on this page, authors would dedicate their books to someone who helped them, and last time, I lacked in that category, but this time, I am lucky to say I dedicate this book to Greg Sanders, the angel who proves that any man, no matter how stubborn, can change, as long as he has a good reason. Little did he know how much he ended up changing me. I love you."_

* * *

_"--78.6 of statistics are made up on the spot."  
_


	10. Epilogue

TEN MONTHS LATER:

"C'mon, all of you people promised!" Greg moaned to all the CSIs.

They all groaned in unison as they stood outside St. Mary's. It was the annual blood drive, and Greg had to force them to sacrifice their free time to come along with him.

"I dunno, Greg," Nick said, hesitating, "I think blood should stay INSIDE the body."

"Oh, what is your reason for that?" Greg snorted.

"Because I'm normal." Nick said simply.

"Nick," Greg said, shaking his head slowly, "You work with dead people all day. Face it. All of you people aren't normal."

All of the CSIs laughed and walked inside St. Mary's, and the ending statement of Maree's final memoirs seemed to echo in the desert:

_"It's the moments that you never forget that really mean something, and the sad resolution that we all have to eventually leave them behind. All I know is that in the heart of some people, I will not be forgotten, and that is all I ask for. Thanks for the memories."_

--END--

* * *

_"Remember the compliments you receive and forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how."  
-Baz Luhrmann "Sunscreen Song"_


End file.
